Stranger Among Friends
by Garnet-Princess
Summary: There's a new lady at court. Nobody knows her name. And of course, Neal has made it his responsability to fall for her...
1. Chapter 1

The squire's wing of the palace buzzed with excitement. Nealan of Queenscove, having returned from the north with his knight-master Lady Alanna, was in the library with Faleron, Seaver, Merric, Roald, Esmond, Cleon, and Owen, a chubby fourth-year page who had joined their ranks after being rescued from Joren and his gang. It was the first day of the midwinter festivities, and for Seaver, Merric, Esmond, and Faleron, who had been away the previous year, it was their first time attending the annual dance.

"Have a jolly time," Owen said gloomily, as a page he could not attend. His usually cheerful face was pulled down in a miserable pout.

Cleon laughed. "You too, Jesslaw. Have a jolly time serving dishes tonight."

"Thanks."

Neal, surprisingly, had remained strangely quiet all this time. He was sitting on his cushioned chair, chin propped up on his left hand, staring off into space with a dreamy expression. "New lady at court?" Esmond asked, raising a mocking eyebrow.

"Yes, I saw her in the gardens this morning. She's to be introduced to the court at the dance tonight. A fairer lady there has never been. Her skin was as soft as velvet. The sun gleamed off her hair..." He was interrupted by snickers from the other boys. He gave them a hard, meaningful glare, but only succeeded in making them laugh harder. "So as was saying, the sun gleamed of her hair like..."

The curtain of night had already settled by the time that Neal arrived at the dance. He was dressed in suit of the violet and black colours of Pirate Swoop which didn't quite go with him. The suit stuck to him like a second skin, and itched terribly. Neal was quite sure that this was Lady Alanna's newest form of torture. As if nearly beating the life out of him at sword-practice at four each morning wasn't bad enough. Beside him, his knight-master grinned slyly. Sometimes, he was certain that she could read his mind. Lady Alanna hated formal festivities nearly as much as Lord Raoul did, and she was determined to make her squire suffer for it. Indeed, Neal was surprised that they'd even come back to the palace.

Ever since Keladry of Mindelan had been kicked out of page training three and a half years ago, she'd only been there twice. Once to take on Neal as a squire, and once to attend this dance. Alanna could not seem to be able to sustain her glee these past few days. Neal could not help wondering if she knew something he did not. He thought of Kel, she'd left early in the morning the day after Lord Wyldon had told her that she couldn't. She never even said good-bye. She'd trudged on foot for a dozen or so days all the way back to Mindelan, because she didn't have a horse. Neal had sent her several letters, but she'd never responded. He'd heard from Cleon who was squire to Kel's brother that she'd been sent to convent school. And then the lady that Neal had seen in the gardens stepped out into the great hall. And Neal thought about nothing else.

Across the room from Neal, sat Faleron, Merric, and their knight-masters. All four gaped as the lady stepped into the room… Until Merric started laughing. "Look at Stone Mountain!" Indeed, Joren was staring at the lady as if he was a starving man and she was a magnificent feast an inch out of reach.

Faleron shook his head sardonically. "No, look at Queenscove."

The lady stepped onto the platform. She was dressed surprisingly modestly in a deep navy blue with gold designs going across like sun rays that set off her tanned skin quite nicely. For a lady, she seemed to have spent quite a lot of time in the sun. Her hair waved slightly and was cropped short about an inch or two below her shoulders. The king's minister of ceremony stood. "In most occasions, I'd tell you her name. But the lady does not wish that to be known. All I can say is that some of you may already know her." And that was it. No extended history, no name of fief. The murmur of unease travelled through the crowd. The conservatives were in uproar.

King Jonathan waved a hand for silence. "Let the dance begin!" And it did.

Neal pushed and shoved his way through the crowd of young nobles who had gathered around the lady, wincing as someone's elbow swung into his ribs. It took him some time to reach the front of the line. "May I have the pleasure of the first dance?" he asked. She looked up at him, and their gazes locked, hazel met green. And for a sudden heart-wrenching moment, Neal could have sworn that there was something intensely familiar about this girl.

Then the lady nodded slowly, and the spell was broken. Neal took her hand, towing her through the crowd to the dance floor, many of the suitors glaring at him balefully. The music began – a fast-paced square-dance to celebrate the coming of the new year. The lady seemed surprisingly lithe and almost muscular. Neal wondered how she'd managed to exercise in those silk gowns.

Suddenly, he felt her pull away. Joren of Stone Mountain stood at their side, hand clasped on the lady's arm, and smiling dazzlingly. "May I cut in?" he asked.

He heard the lady take a sharp breath as if shocked. _Well, who wouldn't be, the way the blond squire looked tonight, _Neal thought bitterly. "Get your paws off me, Stone Mountain," she snapped, face wiped clean of any expression.

Joren leapt back in surprise, letting go of her arm as if he'd been burned. He muttered a quick apology and strutted away, trying to regain some of his pride. "Yes, go back and lick your wounds," Neal heard her mutter under her breath.

Strange, it was the first time that he'd heard her speak, and he realized that there was something familiar about her voice as well, although it had been years since he'd heard it last. He peered down into her face. "Have we met?"

At his voice, she glanced up, "It's been a while, Neal."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer (I forgot to add one in the first chapter): Characters belong to TP, but the plot belongs to me etc. etc. You know the rest.**

**Huge thanks to all my reviewers, favouriters, and suscribers. This chapter is dedicated to you.  
**

There were about a thousand things Neal wanted to say all at once. _Where have you been? I've missed you. You never wrote. _"You look nice tonight," he said lamely, and hit himself inwardly.

Keladry of Mindelan smiled bitterly, "Why, thank you!" Her voice was loaded with sarcasm as thick as congealing blood and as cutting as the sharpest sword. She'd changed, Neal realized, and not just on the outside. The Kel he knew would have put on her Yamani lump face by now. The Kel he knew wouldn't be caught dead in a fancy and no doubt uncomfortable ball-gown, no matter how modest it was. No wonder he hadn't recognized her. "Tell me Neal, what kind of trouble have you been up to lately? Have you been eating your vegetables? I believe that Lady Alanna took you up as her squire."

Neal laughed. "Yes, I have been eating all my vegetables and the lioness's as well, since she doesn't like them very much either. If I don't, I have a beating to look forward to on our next sparring session. Since the Alanna the lioness isn't eating her vegetables, are you?" He realized too late what he'd said.

Kel's warm gaze had frozen up again. This time, she did put on her mask. "I thank you for the dance, Nealan of Queenscove," she said calmly, and was gone.

Running through the ball room at full speed, Kel struggled not to cry. Even after all these years, the shame of being kicked out of page-training still hit her hard. However much that the others had told her that it was Lord Wyldon's fault, she still had a nagging suspicion that maybe she hadn't been good enough, and that was why she'd failed. And deep within the girl's heart, she still held the dream of being the lioness's squire. A dream that her best friend had stolen, she couldn't help thinking, even though she knew that it was unfair to blame Neal.

She'd almost reached the great double doors when a hand caught at her elbow. She turned around, expecting it to be Neal, but found instead one of her old enemies, Vinson of Genlith. "What do you want?" she asked rudely, being at the end of her patience.

"My lady," he said, bowing in what he thought was a very gallant way and nearly toppled over. "May I have the pleasure of the next dance?"

She took a deep calming breath, struggling not to slap him. "Not today, I would like to retire to my rooms."

Vinson grinned, and grabbed her shoulder so hard it hurt. "My lady," he drawled, hot sour breath streaming into her face. It seemed that though the night had just begun, he'd already drunk his fill of beer. "I am sure that you can spare one last dance. My family is very powerful. I am –"

"I know who you are, Vinson!" she snapped, losing her last shreds of control. "Leave me alone!" Drawing back her arm, she drove the heel of her hand hard into his face, there was a sickening crunch, and he crumpled to the ground. The dancers around them stopped dancing and stared in what could only be described as utmost horror. Delicate court ladies don't usually start off the evening by beating up their escorts. Only, Keladry of Mindelan was not a delicate court lady, never was one, and never will be. Too late, she realized her mistake. If Kel could have kicked herself in the face right at that moment, she would have done it.

Time seemed to freeze. Nobody moved. Even the king and queen had stopped chatting to their courtiers to stare back and forth from Kel to Vinson. Across the room, Cleon of Kennan stood beside Neal and smiled. So Kel of Mindelan, the Yamani lump, had not lost her touch. She was still a warrior at heart. "Come on," he whispered to Neal and made his way through the crowd to the place Kel stood, feet placed shoulder width apart, one arm out-stretched as if to fend off an attack.

"Glad you're back oh mirage of delight!" Cleon's loud booming voice echoed through the room. "Tell me, where have you been this entire time, princess flower?" If it were not for her Yamani training, Kel might have screamed, but even she couldn't hold back a tiny squeak of surprise.

"Cleon!" She'd completely forgotten the big red-headed boy's irritating tendency for calling her names. Vincent forgotten, she frantically tried to think up something to say. "What are you doing here?"

If anything, Squire Cleon's laughter was louder than his voice. "Why, today is the Midwinter Ball of course! What else would I be doing here but to dance, oh pearl of my heart?"

She felt the muscles of her back tense. Cleon was normally on the rowdy side, but this was going too far even for him. "You've been drinking, haven't you." It wasn't a question.

Neal chose that moment to step in. Cleon indeed was drunk that night; Neal had caught his pouring cup after cup of wine down his throat. There would be blood between the redhead and Kel if he continued on embarrassing her.

Kel's shoulders sagged as she felt Neal wrap an arm around her shoulders. Slowly, hesitantly, she gazed up into those emerald orbs which glowed with concern. "Come on," he said. "I take you back to your rooms."

Silently, with the whole room full of nobles boring holes into their backs, Nealan of Queenscove led Keladry of Mindelan through the great double doors and into the hallways beyond.

**I know this took me a long time to update, but school started and I've been really busy between tests and after-school stuff. Also, I had a bit of writer's block half way through the chapter... Blah, blah, blah...**

**Looking for a beta reader! If you'd could beta for this story, please PM me! I'd be eternally grateful! ;)**

**Oh yeah... and of course, don't forget to review!  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: not mine**

**A/N: Don't kill me, I'm really sorry for the delay of about... one year, I had the first part all written out but only finished the second part today :) Plz accept this chapter as a peace offering...**

The great doubles doors slammed behind them, cutting them off from the rest of the nobles. Kel stopped walking, knees beginning to tremble – would have fallen if not for Neal's arm around her. Once she caught her balance again, she quickly separated herself from him, trying not to think about how _good_ it had felt. "I think we need to talk," she said quietly. "Not here," she added, as Neal opened his mouth, "But I know a place where we won't be interrupted."

As Kel led the way, it soon became apparent to Neal that they were not heading towards the residence wing of the palace, as he'd expected. "Where are we going?" he asked, puzzled.

"To the Northern gardens," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Nobody goes there at night, especially when there's a party going on."

Neal stopped in his tracks. "Kel, there's a reason to that. The Northern gardens are dangerous at night – in fact, they shouldn't even be classified as 'gardens'. It's filled with poisonous plants, swamps, and various small, bad-tempered immortals."

The girl only shrugged. "It's not that bad," she tossed over her shoulder without even breaking stride. "You're not scared, are you?"

"No," Neal replied quickly, too quickly. From what he could see of her face, she was smirking in a manner that reminded him rather uncomfortably of Joren of Stone Mountain, and he realized that he'd been tricked. Now he could not refuse to go to the gardens or he would be immediately branded as a coward.

She was hurrying now, lifting her skirts off the ground so not to trip over them. Neal had to run to catch up with her, throwing up his arms in exasperation. Yep, same old Kel, as stubborn and fearless as that strawberry roan she used to have as a page. Same old sadistic, vegetable-obsessed Kel. All too soon, they arrived in front of the iron-barred gate leading into the Northern Gardens. The gate was a beautiful creation, really, if one did not know what lay beyond it.

Neal sighed, and grasped the bolt of the gate which felt cold against his palms. He had to reach up to do it, and even with both hands the block of iron slid painfully slowly, making a grating sound. And then she had moved his hands aside and placed her own on the bolt, and with no visible effort the gate was unlocked. She turns her head around to raise a brow at him in unconcealed amusement. For the first time, he's glad that it's dark, so the blush on his cheeks wouldn't be that noticeable.

She pushes the gate open, holds it for him as he steps into the gardens, then gives him a mock bow – like the ones they were taught when they were pages together all those lifetimes ago. He briefly wondered how much of that year she still remembered, he remembered every single moment of it. But then again, he'd been fifteen at the time, and she'd only been ten. That had been around four years ago. _Does she have a new best friend now?_ he mused with a tinge of jealousy.

She lets the gate slam shut with a clang that broke through his thoughts. "So," she says awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot, "what would you like to know?"

"I want to know why you never wrote. I want to know where you've been all this time," he replied suddenly consumed with an inexplicable anger, his tone sounding harsh even to his own ears. She flinched, and he regretted his words immediately, but was too irate in that moment to apologize.

She was staring at him, her head tilted to one side in that way she had, her hands on her hips. Although the intensity of the stare unnerved him, he couldn't help feeling smug satisfaction that she still had to look up at him. "I'm sorry," she said, cutting through his meddled thoughts. When he didn't react, she said it again, almost shouting this time.

Still, he did not answer, and frustrated, she strode up to him until they were only a few inches apart. "I know that 'sorry' does quite cut it, and I could say it a thousand times and it still wouldn't be enough, but couldn't we please just go back to the way were!"

Now he was the one who was staring at her, watching the tears well up and start to slide down her face. And then she reached out a hand and took a swing at him. Stunned, he jumped backwards to avoid it, and felt himself fall…

Well, it wasn't quite falling; it was more like plummeting in slow motion, or being eaten a bit at a time. First his feat sank into the mud, then his ankles were swallowed up with a gurgling sound. He wind-milled his arms for balance, he twisted and writhed, but nothing seemed to work. Within moments his knees had disappeared too, and in a few more he was up to his waist in slippery slimy goo. Distantly he heard a high-pitched voice cursing with a creatively that would have had left even the Lioness speechless.

"Neal! Neal!" someone was yelling and he felt something jab into his chest. He grabbed onto it automatically and felt himself being towed forward through the mud and back to the surface. When he was close enough to dry ground, a hand reached out dragged him to safety.

He landed on his knees, the palms of his hands flat against the ground, mouth open and panting. It was a while before he looked up and saw the girl bending over him. "Kel…"

She wasn't looking at him anymore, but seemed be examining the patch of clover beside her feet. "Are you alright?" she asked quietly.

He nodded, "Yes, but Kel –"

"Let's go," she whispered, walking up to the gate and holding it open for him like before, although there was no mock bow, no trace of humour in the situation. Not knowing what else to do, he passes through, wondering whether this was all a dream.

And then she was running as fast as she could, through the gate herself, past Neal, down the corridors, up and down flights of stairs, not exactly knowing where she was going, only wanting to forget the events of the night, wanting to forget what had almost happened to Neal, and wanting to forget her role in it.


End file.
